The Unexpected
by PurpleYin
Summary: Season 2 AU. McKay PoV but a Grodin fic. Standard missions were never just that he found himself looking at the face of the man who'd haunted his dreams.


Spoilers: MAJOR Siege Part 1 spoiler 

A/N: My first true gen story and of course it happens to be AU. This would be because this is never going to happen on show but that's what fic is for so I hope everyone enjoys it despite the AUness.

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**The Unexpected**

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It was a standard mission. They were to search M45H18 for useful ancient technology, perhaps a Zed.P.M if they were lucky. They'd take whatever there was to salvage from the wrecked world, anything to help them rebuild their home. 

Recon had told them there were remains of an Ancient outpost on the planet's larger continent.  
The puddle jumper flight was routine enough, though much had changed since the battle for Atlantis. There'd been the typical banter between himself and Sheppard about who should fly the jumper down to the planet. He hadn't convinced Sheppard, but then he'd not really been trying. He was still the same old snarky McKay to those who worked with them, but there was something different that the people who truly knew him could probably now see. He'd tried to keep to himself in his own way, pushing away anyone who tried to get close, but there were some who took his insults and sarcasm with ease, who gave as good as they got and let it roll off their backs, accepting him as he was. They were the ones that knew he was troubled.

And every time he thought of the technology they might discover somewhere like this, he always wondered about Peter Grodin; what he'd say, what he'd do with it all when they brought anything back.

Rodney was, of course, smarter, but there had been times Grodin had seen a problem from a different perspective, one that had proved useful. That was the one thing absent from his city these days. It felt like Atlantis was missing one of its keepers. He couldn't deny the Brit had been the best when it came to dealing with the Atlantian computer system, but now, like Grodin, that database was gone. Zelenka was doing a good job taking over and working with what they had left, but it still wasn't right. The situation didn't sit well with Rodney. It all came down to guilt, that it could as easily have been him...An irony that picking the short straw had actually saved him and condemned Peter.

He should have suspected rerouting the power might have caused problems elsewhere, should have gone back to change it, should have gone back for Peter. But that's how things played out, and there was nothing he could have done. No one blamed him, or Miller; they'd all said as much. Elizabeth, Radek, Carson, even John. He also knew Peter had forgiven him, if there'd ever been anything to forgive.

It wasn't his fault, but the guilt lay heavily on him. It made no sense, and yet it was understandable. He was the only one who thought it, who felt it, which was why it didn't go away. No amount of sincere words could change that, he didn't need Elizabeth's forgiveness, or John's. So their words, while comforting, made little difference to how he felt.

Sheppard dropped the ship out of orbit and began the descent down to the planet. Within a few minutes, they were safely parked in a clearing, with dense forest between them and their target.

They trudged through the lush tropical scenery, the humid heat getting to them all. The thickness of the air made the trek harder, and very little was said. By the time they arrived at the ruins they had broken off into pairs.

The area of interest was the crumbled and battered remains of something not too dissimilar from the Atlantus outpost in Antarctica but on a smaller scale and not buried under ice. The jungle had encroached on most of it, vines entangling collapsed sections of the structure. Teyla stood guard as he scanned for energy signatures. Finding none he focused his attention on the inscriptions, tracing fingers above them lightly as he tried to translate, following the trail of text on one of the walls that was still standing.

Around the corner, the script continued and he found a scrawny man crouched at the base of the wall, scribbling down notes onto something. His clothes were in tatters, faded reds and blues, colours that struck Rodney as odd for a native. People around this galaxy weren't technologically advanced, most of them living in the bronze age or some such practically prehistoric way of life. Besides that, they'd had no reports of settlements from the scouting of the area.

Rodney approached the scruffy man slowly. He'd figured it was best to be careful because they never knew what nutjobs were around. Rodney preferred to keep visits to Carson to a minimum; he'd already racked up more than his fair share this year.

Sensing an intruder, the man straightened and turned his casual gaze from his study of the Ancient panels to Rodney.

And Rodney stared at the face of the man whose death had haunted his dreams. A face which seemed very different now his hair had grown long. Straggling, lank and unwashed, his hair covered his ears, and much of his face was hidden beneath a fluffy beard. A strange mental connection in Rodney's brain compared the man to the image of a messiah from a college textbook. They were always wise, weren't they? Peter had always had something intelligent to point out, regardless of the taunts Rodney'd made about his 'powers of observation'.

The last words had been "I'm sorry," and Rodney had always wondered why.

It seemed such a stupid thing to say because Peter shouldn't have been sorry. They should have been sorry they'd inadvertently locked him in, that they hadn't been able to go back. Peter had never had anything to apologise for, which had been the reason his last words had astounded Rodney.

Sometime afterwards, he'd worked it out. Knowing the guilt would eat at them; maybe that had been what the words had been about, sorry that it had to be that way, that they could never save him. Only now he was here in the rain forest, living in the ruins. _Living._

What would his first words be now?

But Peter said nothing, and Rodney's often motor mouth filled in the space, shocked into spewing out a rather pointless statement.

"You died!"

Peter had the audacity to be amused at that, replying suavely "Actually, I'm quite alive."

"Captain Obvious strikes again," said Rodney weakly.

In the background there were shouts, Teyla's voice calling out for him, the rest of the team catching up and moving in on their position.

He shouldn't have underestimated Peter. The man was ingenious, as the rough book he held attested . It looked like scratchy, hand crafted paper; neat writing covered nearly every square inch of it. The papers were ordered and bound as best was possible in this wilderness. No doubt as meticulous in its execution as the precious database he'd once lorded over back on the Atlantis. It just highlighted that the man before him was probably as different from the one who had died as the Atlantis they now lived in was to its previous, untainted version. They'd never manage to build it up to its former glory, and the Peter Grodin standing there might never be 'himself' again either. But then who would be the same after the horrors that some of them had survived?

Rodney couldn't pull himself away from the scene. The radio came on, but he didn't answer it, simply standing there feeling numb. Finally, Sheppard arrived with the others, his quick approach halted when he saw who stood before them.

Sheppard stood at a distance, eyes betraying his confusion as he asked.

"How? McKay said you got blown up, the defensive thingy was in pieces and everything."

Rodney worried that questioning it would dispel the illusion, just another dream twisting into a nightmare at the last moment and leaving him to wake up shaking and confused, heart wrenching that it wasn't true.

However, this Grodin seemed real enough, eager to pump out one of those long winded explanations of his, and this time Rodney thought maybe he'd pay more attention, learn a thing or two, because his mind was having trouble grasping the idea on its own. For once, he didn't have the answers, didn't know what to say. But Peter did, and therefore he'd listen.

"I'm not sure. I think the station detected the incoming fire and activated an emergency protocol. The part of the station I was in detached, but I had no way of signaling you. It was left drifting out of the debris field into space. I thought I was going to die, but I woke up here. Had a bit of a rough landing, as you might be able to see."

Peter pointed to part of the ruins, the devastated crash area where a familiar structure was wedged into the ground, vegetation starting to curl round its sides. The metal still gleamed slightly in spots under the sunlight, between the vines and the scorch marks that covered the hull. One of the window panes of the crashed satellite section had a happy face cleaned off from the grime inside; just like Peter had done once to the great window on an exceedingly boring rainy day shift in the control room, clearing a path in the condensation to draw a rather childish picture.

Rodney wanted to believe it so badly, but he was finding it hard to take in. Peter had been dead to them for months, however, it had seemed longer to him. That memory of the satellite being obliterated had replayed in his mind on countless nights, whether he slept or not. For every thought the others might have, he'd felt it more. Everyone missed Peter, would glance down sadly at his station when they passed, but they were putting it behind them slowly, something he hadn't been able to do.

Having seen it happen made it frighteningly real, something denial didn't work on. He'd slaved away at work, trying to push the facts from his mind as if ignoring them could erase them from existence. It was second best from denying them. Both methods had worked so well in the past. But this didn't compare, and his carefully constructed methods had failed to protect him. The images were vivid, the diamonds of the fire striking the place his friend occupied, and in every dream of it, he was as powerless to stop it as he had first been.

Peter chattered on to Sheppard in good humour.  
"Yes, though I didn't feel quite right for a few days after that."  
What was it about him? Where all Brits like that, stiff upper lip and honourable death?

He had to remind himself there was no death here, not anymore. Peter had taken it all well. He was alive and kicking, carving out order from the wilderness despite being separated from the rest of them.

"You're alright?" Peter asked incredulously, "With the loss of the satellite, I thought you all might not make it."

"We did okay for ourselves," said Sheppard, folding his arms defensively, "...and you, you've survived here all this time, on your own?" he asked in a strange type of awe, just as incredulous of the fact as Peter was about seeing them.

All the staff had been given survival courses, but it wasn't every day you got stranded alone on an alien planet for a couple of months. Peter was lucky, and he blew it off as nothing, acting as if it was just fine, cheery-o and all that.

"It wasn't easy, but my father taught me a lot when I was younger. All those camping trips finally paid off." replied Peter with a nervous type of humour.

Sheppard looked the man up and down, perhaps still not quite believing this wasn't a trick.  
"How do we know you're you?"queried Sheppard.

Rodney chimed in, suddenly wondering if it was too good to be true.  
"Yes, why should I - we - believe you? He asked snidely.

Peter raised eyebrow at the question and held up a stub of pencil as proof. It was a lot shorter by now, but definitely a piece of the pencil they'd broken to use as straws.

Looking into Peter's eyes, Rodney saw a happiness there, but below that was a desperation that explained the man's oddly upbeat attitude. Peter said he was fine because saying it made it that much closer to being true. As if words could heal, a strange reverse of denial. Not lying about what happened but accepting it totally instead. Maybe if that was how it went for him then they could all pretend for a little while, too.

There was an uncomfortable silence, Sheppard watching the two scientists, waiting for Rodney's reaction.

"Well, this is all great, but unless there's something useful on this awful planet, then shouldn't we be going home?" Rodney asked impatiently. He looked to Sheppard for approval, and after a cautious glance, the suggestion seemed accepted.

Peter gathered his stuff from his nearby makeshift 'house' and Sheppard backed off, leaving McKay with his old friend. Sheppard clearly wasn't sure, acting wary of the scientist but he'd left it at that, not saying anything more on the matter. Things weren't settled but for now they were taking it on trust; Rodney's.

It hadn't been so long ago that Rodney's intuition had had little value, with others relying only on the facts he could provide. He and Sheppard had since been through enough together that the man who ran almost completely on instinct was willing to occasionally defer to Rodney's. For Peter's sake, he was grateful this was one of those occasions.

Peter silently bundled up his few odd possessions. After an awkward silence Rodney felt compelled to attempt some small talk.

"So, anything interesting here?"  
Talk about work; work was good. Peter's voice sprang back to life as he started an animated discussion on his findings.

Peter joined him, "Actually, yes. I discovered a new variation of Ancient on the far wall which I'm sure Elizabeth would love to hear about..." but he trailed off there. "Dr. Weir is okay, isn't she?"

Rodney's heart constricted as a new realization struck him.  
"Yes. She's fine... just dandy," he answered, trying to keep his voice calm.  
All those months they'd thought him dead and Peter had never known. He'd been unaware if they were coming, if anyone had survived or if the Wraith had won and gone on to Earth. Presumably Peter had some family there...

What was worse - to mistakenly think someone dead or to be completely cut off from all knowledge of everyone you know and care about when their fates could easily be dire?

At the time, what he'd gone through, the guilt would have seemed worse, but given this flash of insight, he wasn't sure if he'd have been able to withstand the ordeal of simply not knowing. Of living out your life on your own with no hope for the future and nothing to give anything a meaning unless you held onto yourself.

Peter carried on talking as Shepard gave McKay a short nod indicating they were moving out, back to the jumper. Nobody interrupted Peter's remarkably upbeat monologue on the ruins, but Rodney gave him a prod.

For a few seconds his arm slipped round the man's shoulder supportively, something that could have been loosely interpreted as a manly hug, pulling him along in the right direction before patting his arm quickly and drawing away as he announced all too normally, "Bet you my last Snickers that Georgeson will be speechless when she sees you."

"What, the blonde technician?" Peter asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

Rodney had noticed Peter's numerous glances to her and sometimes wondered if that was one of the reasons the man took gate duty so often. She was amiable kind of person, nice if you liked that sort of thing, and if she liked you.

"Yeah, has a thing for you, you know. Completely ignored me when you were, ah...are, around."

"Obviously she appreciates maturity over pure intelligence," Peter quickly bantered back, his grin widening into a smirk.

He scoffed at that, "Oh please! Maturity? When have I been immature!" every word begging for an argument.

As Peter quipped about the shield incident, Rodney smiled. He was barely paying attention, but it felt right. This was how things were meant to be. Him and his band of geeks, a place for every one and every one irreplaceable.

They were going home, and somehow, out of all the missions and all the artifacts they brought back, this was a discovery that would make Atlantis feel a little less empty.


End file.
